The Ballad of Jack Frost and Pitch Black
by VanillaSpiders
Summary: Due to his lack of power, Pitch shrinks to about the size of a pencil, give or take. Even worse, he is found by Jack Frost. Blackice
1. Nightfall

**Chapter 1. Nightfall**

* * *

 _For every evil under the sun  
There is a remedy or there is none.  
If there be one, seek till you find it;  
If there be none, never you mind it._

* * *

Sometimes Jack remembers the older nursery rhymes that never made it to Jamie, that one in particular. He doesn't hear it in the school yard anymore; he doesn't hear it at night before bed. Even on the darkest and starless of nights he doesn't hear it, which used to concern him a little, before he forgot about being worried. By the time Jamie came around, Jack had stopped feeling fear too, in his own way. Hey, when you were a 300 year old spirit who was more around 18 (at least if he remembered correctly) and you were invisible, had ice powers, and you could _fly_ , there wasn't much to be afraid of. If the worst of Jack's problems was that Bunny might chase him about a frozen yard when he found his eggs frozen during another blizzard, then Jack had it pretty damn good.

But those kids weren't eternal frost spirits. They were little. They were young. And they had every right to be a _little_ afraid of healthy certain things, Jack supposed. Like crossing the street and talking to strangers—that was a healthy fear, right, to be cautious of that? It was like kids these days had forgotten the rhymes that made them scared, that gave them the fear and good sense to be wary of certain things. Before cell phones and first person shooter games and those cars that can park themselves. Far be it from Jack to sound like a grandpa, but sometimes he briefly wondered if this lack of fear was any good at all. Then he'd forget what he was worrying about, because he was the Spirit of Fun, mind you, and it was his job to make sure kids had fun. That dark grisly reality stuff wasn't any fun, so Jack seemed to develop a quick distaste to it, and a skillful ability called avoidance.

You couldn't be afraid of the dark if you always had a light on.

Occasionally though, when the nights are sleepless and the moon is hiding behind some of the more stubborn clouds, Jack finds insomnia chipping away at him like a wood pecker to his favorite tree. The old rhyme does little to calm his nerves, does little to soothe the worried…thing…in his chest that replaced his once-beating heart. (North called it a 'Core', Tooth called it a 'soul' Sandy went off on a complex diagram made out of sand Jack couldn't make heads or tails of. Bunny simply told him to leave him alone and let him paint his eggs.) Whatever it was, it's a bother sometimes, and it's not letting Jack get any semblance of rest until its satiated. Jamie's got school in the morning, and anyway it _is_ almost March, so he really shouldn't be attracting snow when Burgess had no business right now with snow fall.

So here Jack was, wandering aimlessly through tree tops humming some indistinct melody that he only vaguely remembers. The full memory of it lies on the far edges of his mind, and comes with strands of emotions and the smile of an older woman he thinks he almost might remember. It seemed Tooth's little memory capsule only covered his strongest, most recent memories before he had died. His sister, his love for her and of course his own death, were fresh as ever.

But before that…?

Jack pushed his brain too far, and the memories slipped through his finger like melted ice and shattered into the deep recess of his mind. Gone, for now.

Frustrated, Jack shook his head and knocked his staff into a tree, sending tendrils of agitated ice arcing up the dark bark. The Wind whistled once next to him, a short flicker of questioning and worry that Jack knew was aimed at him. The tree was less thoughtful and more annoyed, and Jack felt a branch flick at his shoulder as if Jack was a pesky fly and the oak was a perturbed horse.

"Sorry." Jack grunted absentmindedly at the tree, which settled with a quick bristle of leaves that Jack knew was an acceptance to his apology. Leaving the ice to melt off, Jack let the Wind scoop him up and into the night sky, but it was too dark up there and he asked to land soon.

He was in an altogether different part of the forest now, and the only reason Jack noticed where he was at all was because he wasn't quite familiar with this part of the woods. Thick spongy moss was under his feet, only for as long as it took for the ice to start gathering. It was dark green, almost black and soggy as he walked into the woods curiously. At this time of the night the trees and brush were only indistinguishable giants. And the forest floor was a woe begotten mess of clumps that were spiked shadows huddling around the trunks of the shadowed trees.

It was rather dark.

And it was a little cold.

Only one of those bothered Jack now, so he couldn't find it in himself to be _too_ scared.

Besides, what could hurt him now? He was pretty sure, ( _very_ sure after seeing the other guardians) that he was the dead one; he was the one who had so little to lose. Between North's rosy cheeked complexion, Tooth with her smooth warm skin, and her colorful feathers? And Bunny's thick clean fur, or Sandy's _glowing_ aura? Jack thought he stuck out like a sore thumb. The ashen thin kid with the too blue eyes and the purple fingertips and toes. He was dead, and no one could hurt him any worse than he already had been, he decided. So, Jack walked deeper into the tangle of woods, shushing the nervous whispers the Wind gave off as it tried to follow him where it could not go. The less it could reach him, the harder it was for it to pull Jack should he get into any sticky situation, and this made the Wind's anxiety grow tenfold, especially when Jack _didn't_ seem inclined to stop anytime soon. It had to move around the trunks that were three times thicker than Jack's waist, and it was not pleased about this. Leaves shuddered and something scuttled out of view of the corner of Jack's eye. He only saw darkness when he whipped his head to see what it was. Usually there was some form of wildlife. Most of it didn't mind Jack, either. At least, not usually. Something about this place wasn't so usual, though.

There was a movement from the bundle in his hoodie pocket, causing him to startle and the Wind to snap against him, as if colliding into him from behind because it could not stop fast enough. Jack rolled his eyes at the invisible force behind him, but stopped where he was standing. He moved his arm as something small, glittery and blue poked its head from his pocket and chattered up at him. It sounded considerably sleepy.

"Sorry, Baby Tooth." Jack's smile he gave her was sheepish, and his voice was hushed, as if the forest was listening to him. Looking around, it almost felt like it was—but that was impossible, right? "Didn't mean to wake you."

Little Tooth clicked her small little beak several times, as if to say _'well with all that moving you're doing what did you expect?'_ and flew out of her little warm nest and up onto his shoulder where she perched quite often. Her little scolding continued for a moment, wings flicking behind her.

Jack broke off his short laugh, and let her carry on for a moment, watching her. He studied her for a minute, a small frown turning the corners of his mouth down, his eyebrows knitting together. In these woods it seemed like the black of the night was trying to smother out the light her feathers brought. Come to think of it…

He checked his staff, noticing the same seemed to happen with the glow of the ice lines in it. _Oh_.

"I know, I know." Jack finally whispered, cutting off the tiny fairy's reminders about sleeping and how everyone, even him, needed it very much. "And I _will_ , I promise. Just as soon as I find out what's going on here."

That didn't seem to satisfy either of his friends. The Wind tried pushing at his chest to make him go backwards, but it was half-hearted at most and Jack pushed away with a mild glare. Little Tooth didn't look pleased, but she did suddenly look curiously at their surroundings, as if just now noticing how dark it had gotten, and how deep into the woods they were. It almost looked like something that _he_ had made…

But that was _impossible_. They'd banished him, and besides, they were nowhere near the lake in Burgess.

Baby Tooth told Jack as much, because she could see those gears turning in that head of his, and it never spelled out anything good for anyone else's mental health and concern of Jack Frost. That boy couldn't sit still, and if something was definitely not a good idea, it only made him want to go and do it even more.

"I just want to look." Jack protested with a bit of a childish pout. Then he gave a stronger, more confident smile. It was one of his best ones and Baby Tooth _knew_ it meant trouble. "But I've got you and Wind with me— _you'll_ protect me, right?"

The Wind whuffed once into Jack's shoulder in mild annoyance, not falling for his tricks. It usually never did.

Baby Tooth blushed and pointedly refused to meet that ice blue gaze. Still, she remained quiet when he started walking again, swaying gently with his movements. She smoothed her feathers with her tiny hands and simply kept watch.

With a cackle, Jack ventured off, climbing over a fallen log carefully since the Wind was now silent as ever. He knew they hadn't left it behind, the Wind was everywhere, but it still felt eerie to be so distanced from his friend, it felt odd and surreal. Even when he was alone before becoming a Guardian, he had the Wind.

Even stranger, was that despite how deep Jack ventured, nothing ever changed besides the forest getting thicker, and soon even that maintained a steady level. Jack didn't spot clouds above, or light behind the trunks that suggested a town or even a cabin, nothing. No matter how he squinted, he couldn't make out shapes except for obvious ones like trunks, branches and clusters of brush and brambles. It wasn't so much like night had fallen, but more like night had come down like a sack of bricks and had refused to come up for ages. Weird.

Up until this moment, Jack had assumed they were in the forest alone.

And then, to his horror and shock, he realized they were most certainly _not_ alone.

* * *

 _The Following Day_

* * *

Sandy had come for a visit.

This pleased North quite a bit, because he had missed his old friend, and anyway March was a rather boring, slow time of the year for him. (Much to the delight of the Yetis.) The sun was rising over the mountains, and judging by the time, Sandy had just gotten off duty, so he had a couple hours before he had to shoot over to some other part of the world that was sleeping to deliver dreams to children.

"How has the business of sleep being going, good yes?" North asked hopefully. Sandy nodded, explaining through pantomime his work had never been easier, what with Pitch Black's demise now almost a year old. There had been no word from him since, he had not darkened a corner or devoured a nightmare that Sandy knew of in several months. Despite this, the ancient guardian was not a fool. He, and all of the others too, knew that didn't mean they could slack off. It was only a matter of time before Pitch decided to rear his ugly head again and try to cloak the world in darkness once more. They had to be ever vigilant. But in the meantime, he had finished his mug of coco and this was a bigger concern him more than Black's possible rise. North spotted that and chuckled, leaning out of his chair to grab the still warm pot, heavy with the rick liquid and painted with pretty blue horses dashing around it.

"More cocoa, Sandy?" The large man offered cheerfully.

The Sandman nodded so hard and so eagerly he scattered speckles of golden sand everywhere. They ate in relative silence, the only sound was the occasional guitar riff or doll speaking as the Yeti's worked at leisure. The place was emptier than usual, over half North's staff taking some hard-earned vacations off in the Bahamas' or something. He rather liked the peacefulness here, and was glad nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Sandy helped himself to another cookie just as the Wind started blowing.

"Ah, Jack's back!" North cried cheerfully, knowing what those gusts meant. No sooner had he said this than the windows at the top of the hall burst open and a familiar thin figure in blue coasted through the rafters. Jack dodged and trotted along some beams, taking his time to slow down but he seemed a little more unsteady than usual.

"Jack! Good to see you!" North called up, Sandy waving himself once he'd set down his second cookie.

"Uh, hi North, hey." Was Jack's distracted shout as he lowered toward the staircase that lead to his little room at the Pole. He looked a little off balance, though that was probably because he seemed to have one hand stuffed into his hoodie pocket, North supposed. The other gripped his staff tightly, and the hidden hand did not seem inclined to pull out no matter how much it put Jack's flight pattern off balance.

"Sandy is here, come down and say hello—" The spirit made it to the banister, all but running along it before he dropped down before the door.

"Can't come down!" Jacked yelled back. "Uh, busy! Hi Sandy, bye Sandy—" And like that, Jack's door slammed closed with a snap. The Wind stopped blowing; in fact it petered off rather sheepishly. And the rest of the residents of the grand room stood there wondering vaguely what that had been about before they went back to their tasks at hand. It wasn't like Jack to be so…like what he had just done. Usually he was the first one to swipe several cookies and sit up on a shelf somewhere, then proceed ask Sandy as many questions as he could think. Sandy was the oldest guardian, so he had the most interesting stories. And though Jack lived with North occasionally and enjoyed all the Guardians, he seemed more inclined to hang around Sandy than the others. So this manner of conduct was just…strange. Stranger still because it didn't seem like Jack, and strange because it didn't seem like something Jack would ever considering doing. Unless he was up to something he didn't want Sandy, or North, or anyone else to know about. Jack Frost was a master at pranks, but this didn't seem like one to North. Besides, Jack's pranks were never so…obvious.

Above Sandy's head, a question mark twisted into shape, the man's head cocked.

North shrugged in response, having no answer himself for the spirit's odd behavior. Sandy seemed unbothered by this, but that could have been because he'd just spotted an elf drinking out of his mug and went to shoo it away, the moment forgotten.

But North gave Jack's door a suspicious stare for a while, stroking his chin whenever he was perplexed by something.

"I wonder…"

* * *

" _Set me down this instant Frost, or I'll…"_ The seething string of words came floating to Jack's ears as he doubled checked to make sure the door was locked before going further into the room.

"Or you'll what?" Jack snorted gently as he dug into his pocket. Sitting on his shoulder, Baby Tooth folded her arms and stuck her beak in the air. It took Jack a moment to grasp the cold heavy weight in his pocket, but he managed it after a moment and tugged firmly.

"Pitch, you're eleven inches tall. And you're tail is all…smoky. One suck with a vacuum and you'd be done." Jack said lightly as he pulled the shrunken form of Pitch Black from his pocket and set him on the little desk he never used. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It had a little holder with one or two pencils, not that Jack ever did any writing. (Or even knew how to. but he didn't want to sound ungrateful for the fully furnished room North had gifted him.) There was a snow globe resting in one corner, one of Jack's most prized possessions he hated moving in case it got broken. The desk was also holding a book he'd leant from Tooth, and several dozen of Jamie and Sophie's finest drawings in a loving stack, but other than that, Pitch was set onto the relatively tidy cherry wood top, where he promptly stayed put despite his previous threats and warnings. It wasn't like he didn't want to move, it was more like he _couldn't_.

He didn't seem to have the exertion to do much else other than fold to the ground where he was set, and Jack felt a brief pang of sympathy.

"Hey, look just…just take it easy and try not to move around too much. You still look pretty exhausted, so."

Baby Tooth did not echo Jack's sentiments or concern.

She flew down, glaring at Pitch and when he turned to gnash his teeth at her for getting to close she chirped shrilly and poofed all her feathers out. She'd take him on right now, fearless as her little frost spirit she loved so much. Jack's hand came between them, gently scooping the little fairy out before she decked him like he'd seen Toothiana do.

"Easy, there, Toothy. Look, he's not gonna hurt us, see? We saved his butt after all." Jack said, trying to hold back his laughter at the thought of Pitch Black getting the smoke kicked out of it him at the hands of one of Tooth's tiny helpers. Pitch owed them, he understood that, right? Little Tooth settled back onto his shoulder and glared at Jack, who paid no notice to it.

The Wind buffeted the drapes of the window nervously, but did nothing more. It had already been scolded by Jack back in the woods when it tried to blow Pitch away, believing him to be a far bigger threat than he was. Now it sulked moodily around the room, wondering why on earth Jack had bothered helping Pitch at all, let alone bringing him to North's place. Tooth, and even Pitch, shared this confusion. They had found Pitch in those dark woods, all small and weak as a new born kitten, but still able to give scathing comments and generally be a stubborn ass as anyone Jack had ever met.

Jack hadn't been thinking when he did what he did next.

"Don't be so sure." Was Pitch's low reply in response to Jack's comment, voice cutting. Honestly though, it'd be a little more intimidating if the bogie man was back to his usual towering height and his shadows were more than sloppy tendrils of sand and smoke. Someone the approximate length of a paintbrush didn't have much going for them by way of fear. Pitch hardly seemed solid, only human looking from the waist up. The rest of him trailed down into vague meshes of shadow and sand that he littered everywhere if he moved too much.

Bunny had shrunk when he lost power, so Jack supposed this was the same principle. Just…applied to Pitch who hadn't really gotten any power back. At all. It was a little sad.

"Aw, c'mon Pitch. If it wasn't for us you'd still be holed up in that tangle of branches cursing a mile a minute. Which reminds me. Language. Try to keep it PG here, yeah? I swear the Yeti's can hear cursing through doors, they're such sticklers for it." Jack explained lazily as he stretched his arms behind his head and let his staff swing lazily in a circle above his head.

"What exactly do you intend to accomplish by this, this _kidnapping_ , Frost?" Was Black's cold reply. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his smoky tail curled up under himself as he stared up (and up and up) at the much bigger winter spirit.

Jack rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and glanced at the door like he expected North to come crashing through it any minute.

"Honestly? Well, here's the thing…I don't really… _know_." Jack threw a bashful grin into place as he said it, as if that could be some sort of shield that would let him avoid getting scolded.

Little Tooth and Pitch gave him blank, incredulous stares.

"You just…looked like you really needed a hand. That's all. I didn't mean anything by it—though I'd appreciate _not_ trying to take over the world while you're here. North, uh, wouldn't like that. Annnd as long as he doesn't know about you, I _think_ you'll be okay in here."

"You do realize, if I get better? I will escape from this…place." Pitch spat the last word out like it had personally insulted him or something. Jack's grin faltered though, despite being vaguely amused at the stubborn tone Black had.

"Why did you say if?" Jack wouldn't tell Pitch this, but from what he heard from the other Guardians, it kept sounding like it was only a matter of time before Pitch got back to full power. Fear was always abundant, wasn't it? Not just in little kids, either.

But now here Pitch himself was, sounding like he didn't really believe he'd ever be bigger than a desk lamp. That set of all sorts of warning bells in the back of Jack's mind, and about a dozen or so questions. This whole Guardian thing was still new to him, and it wasn't like the others like talking about what happened when you lost power. Even Sandy was hard to get a straight answer out of it, but Jack found himself morbidly fascinated with it. He'd had plenty of magical powers _before_ the kids could see him, so why did the title of Guardian come with so many…strings?

"…I meant when, boy." Pitch sniffed.

"Yeah, but that's not what you _said_."

Pitch delivered a glare so venomous Jack was surprised there wasn't a hole in the wall behind him.

But curiously had light a flame in him, and Jack couldn't help but take a seat (backwards, in the chair) and stare at Pitch. He had already carried Pitch once, had felt the odd weight that was Pitch's form now. It had been like a snake's, almost, nothing at all like the slimy darkness he'd imagined Pitch to feel like. The sensation was almost pleasant. Jack had watched the way the trails of sand and tendrils of thick shadow had started coiling around his palm for some semblance of balance. Pitch had propped himself up shakily, and Jack could just tell the dark spirit was weak. No matter how his dulcet tone tried to come off as haughty and powerful.

"Why did you bring me _here_?" Pitch's way of avoiding topics he didn't like just seemed to be volleying new questions, said with as much venom and anger as possible. Jack didn't buy it.

"Uh, well. Spring was coming to Burgess, so _I_ couldn't stay. And I remember you said nothing went better together than dark and cold. And North's place is always cold, that's why I love it. Plus, here, I can keep an eye on you." Jack's finger came in, poking gently at the boogie man's shoulder experimentally. He was batted away by Pitch's waving arms, his sand curling up rather indignantly.

"You know. Like parole."

"Like what?"

"It's this thing—haven't you heard of it? No? Oh, well. It's like when a criminal is let out of prison, and then they get put on parole where they can go out into society but they're watched like hawks. If they do anything wrong enough, they end up back in jail." Jack said, his logic starting to slowly piece together in everyone else's head. It didn't stop Baby Tooth from dropping her head into her little hands and shaking her head in fond exasperation, though. Again, Jack paid her no mind, nor did he when the Wind moaned wearily and went silent.

"So if I 'do anything wrong?'" Pitch sneered challengingly up at Jack's easy going smirk.

"Yep. Back into solitary you go, buddy." As cheerful as he sounded, he really hoped he didn't have to do that. His smile slipped as he stood up and stepped away to go drop on his bed and do some thinking. What had he just done? Rescued Pitch Black, and then brought him here to the North Pole to keep an eye on him while he…what? Got back power? Sat on that desk and wasted away?

Jack wasn't sure what he wanted to happen to Pitch, but he did know what he _didn't_ want him to go through. Being trapped and alone in the dark…how could that make Pitch any less determined to ruin other people's lives? Maybe if Jack tried, Pitch could settle down a little, maybe become more copasetic with the others instead of…going crazy and trying to take over the world through fear and hatred and darkness. And if it didn't work, Jack wasn't by himself now. He had North here and the others just in case. (Though he had a feeling they would be less inclined to think reasonably and more inclined to stamp him out for good if Jack wasn't careful.) So letting the others know would only be a last resort. Right now, Jack had a feeling he could handle Pitch by himself. He'd done it before, and that was back when Pitch was at full power, when Jack didn't even have kids believing in him. So, by that logic, he could do it again, couldn't he?

Jack turned his head a fraction to the left, watching Pitch out of the corner of his eye. The dark spirit sat on the book now, appearing to study or glare at the cover. His long tail twisted and shifted at various speeds, but the way they tangled and writhed didn't suggest Pitch was thinking any happy thoughts. Jack didn't blame him.

' _For every evil under the sun…'_ Jack thought as the memory came back to him. ' _There is a remedy or there is none.'_

Jack just hoped this was one of those cases where there _was_ in fact, a remedy.

Sighing, Jack rolled onto his side, pushing his arm under him. He wasn't used to beds after all the time he spent in trees, but North had given him a stiffer bed and had forgone the down pillows. This made the bed immensely comfy, but it also made it increasingly harder to stay awake. Unlike Pitch, he wasn't nocturnal. At least his insomnia was letting go of him. Baby Tooth had perched on his shoulder, sitting straight up and apparently not wanting to rest. Jack had a feeling why, and he felt bad. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. Cupping a hand around the little fairy, he stroked her back soothingly with a finger, mumbling she was alright, and that everything else would be, too. As much as the winter spirit understood Baby Tooth's (and judging by the annoyed tapping of the window shutter, the Wind's too) fears and concerns.

But Jack also knew something else, something perhaps neither of them could understand to the level Jack could.

Being alone was…no _fun_.


	2. Twilight Ballad

**See the end for author's notes.**

 **Chapter 2. Twilight Ballad**

* * *

 _If you die before you wake,  
Do not cry, and do not ache  
Nothing's ever yours to keep.  
So close your eyes and go to sleep._

* * *

Pitch Black watched the boy sleep, and wondered how he did it.

"Oh you're simply loving this, aren't you?" Staring up through the frosted window, Pitch could just make out the faded white streak, of a half moon visible. Despite any input from the sun, the Moon had enough of its presence known to capture the attention of the bogey man. He hissed his words up toward that smug smile he didn't need to see. He could image it perfectly.

"Was this your plan all along? Well? _Trap_ me in this forsaken hole in the middle of nowhere under that little snowflake's hold? It won't work; I can tell you that now." Pitch seethed quietly. He kept his voice down for some reason, but he couldn't quite place why. He told himself it was so no one heard him, not because he cared if Frost woke up or not.

The Man in the Moon did not answer.

But then, he rarely had to.

Pitch turned away in disgust, folding his arms crossly over his chest as he eyed the modest room.

Stillness. Pitch hears sounds but doesn't listen, refusing to process. What little remains of his shadows twist and turn below him as he sits on a matchbox he found. His spectral tail is only a fluttering wave of black sand that chokes off into nothing but smoke. If Jack were to put his finger through his tail like he had once before, he could push apart Pitch's very essence up to his hips, blue tipped fingers parting the dark spirit until Pitch threatened to bite him again, or worse. How shameful, how wretched, to be a little longer than a pencil but to only have half of that be solid enough to make a difference.

Blackness. It's still not enough.

And what fear is there to be found, here? In the company of the _Spirit of Fun_ (Such idiocy. If Jack had come after the Sandman's creation Pitch could have snuffed him as easily as candlelight.) Or Jack's little pet, and especially with Claussen below this very floor. Pitch knew it from the depths of his deepest pit. Here, there simply _was_ no darkness to be found, even in the dead of night. Night was falling blessedly soon, but then every window in this place would be lit to the nines, as if the ice castle itself were wholly determined to become a living candle.

Then of course, there was the _other_ problem.

Pitch slid his gaze to watch the frost spirit where he lay sleeping on the bed. He'd discovered rather quickly Jack was a restless sleeper, and an altogether stupid one, really. Sleeping in the area as the bogey man himself? Fool. There is something wholly satisfying to knowing how little Frost knows when it comes to these matters. But then, what can Pitch do? All he can do in his current state is feed off nightmares, not make them. Not yet. With a sour look, Pitch eyes the boy and decides he's too thin. Too gangly, and his hands are too large. Never mind Jack had held him as gently as he had an ice crystal, as if in fear he might break. Never mind the young man's lashes are so, so dark against the pale skin that stretches over his cheeks. Pitch is very certain that if Frost got any more paler he'd be in danger of turning the same color as a damn star. In his sleep, Jack begins to roll over, but stops halfway with one hip crooked in the air and half his face buried deeply in his folded arms. He mumbles, something unremarkable and Pitch snorts at the very image. The pillow had long since been pushed off, and though Frost's little pet had tried to pull it back up (much to humor of Pitch, who mocked her for her weakness) Jack slept perfectly fine lying just on the bed. On top of the sheets. With the window open, and no pillows or blankets to be seen near him. The sleepy shifts of his body cause some ice shards to flick off his aged hoodie, where they scatter away from him as he sighs. The noise is, altogether, sickening at best and distracting at worst. Pitch watches in quiet as a breeze buffets Jack's hair, the gesture rather absentminded, making the sallow strands of his already messy hair flutter lazily, just like his eyelashes when a dream tries to catch him. Pitch pushes all thoughts of those arctic eyes from his mind before he can hate himself even more. This. This was what killed him the most. All his powers of darkness and fear, and one little snowflake making spirit who _happens_ to resemble a star was what did him in. The indecency of it all.

Point of the matter: This was not a place of darkness and vile thoughts Pitch could feed off, or even hope to create a nightmare.

And Jack Frost's obscenely huge amount of magnetism was doing nothing to help.

* * *

 _His ….tucked him in at night with a…on the head, as was her custom. Jack was snuggled between his…and sighed contentedly. Night had fallen, the last….blown out, and the…was gone._

 _Jack didn't mind much though, despite only being about…years old._

' _There's nothing there in the…that isn't there in the…" said his…often. And when Jack had protested, his…had come in and would recite one of Jack's favorite…_

" _Now I lay me down to sleep  
I pray the…my soul to…  
if I shall die before I wake  
I pray the…my soul to…"_

 _Something something. My soul to what was it again? Fleetingly, Jack struggled before his mind gave up in exhaustion and refused to worry anymore about the missing words in his vocabulary. Where was he?_

 _Ah, yes. That…before bed._

 _This thought comforted Jack like it had many times, and he fell asleep quickly, counting…until he did._

 _But no amount of promises from his…could anticipate what flashed through Jack's eyes that night. The child twitched and thrashed in his normally comfortable and cozy…, and the sleepy stillness underneath his bed slowly slopped away like…_

 _Like…like water. Like_ _ **gallons**_ _of water—ice cold, frigid in fact. So cold it seeped in through his fingers and his toes and by the time it reached his body his limbs felt comfortably warm. He moved ridiculously heavy limbs but it was like God himself's heavy hand was pressing down on his chest and making him sink faster than Jack was comfortable with. Water, water water—everywhere around him and in him and filling his lungs as he sank further and further into the darkness. Down, down he went. Something was above him, but his eyes were closing, so he wasn't sure. Something was_ _ **definitely**_ _below him, trying to wrap around him as if to shield away the water, as if it wanted to wrap him up warm and safe and hold on to him. In his final moments of clarity, Jack thought he heard whispering. Whispering, of all things, down here at the bottom of the lake! The…thing, whatever it was, hugged him carefully and murmured something about starlings and going to sleep._

 _Before Jack could listen, the light above the water started to trickle down to him._

 _It was dark. And it was cold._

 _And Jack begged the…his soul to…_

* * *

Jack woke up.

Sluggishly, at first. It was horribly hard, which was new. And he couldn't remember a damn thing at all about any dream he had, which wasn't new. He wasn't sure he minded his time. If it was another memory from his past, it hadn't been a good one. He had hoped he would see one about his sister, or his family or his friends. He was sure he had them. She wasn't the only thing in his past-life, was she? Ugh. And what was with this exhaustion he felt? Jack looked over, and saw Pitch gazing at him with mild interest. Jack couldn't be sure, but he thought Pitch was a bit bigger. In any case, his tail was certainly longer.

"…can I help you?" Jack groaned, rubbing one side of his face as if to wake blood cells that had long since frozen.

"Do you… _often_ make noises like that in your sleep?" Pitch asked, as if this noise had disturbed his reading or something Jack noticed suddenly that perhaps, in fact, it had. The book from Tooth was open before the dark spirit. Pitch say perched on a match box that Jack was almost sure had come with the desk. He'd never need matches though; Jack wasn't overtly fond of fire. Try as he might, Jack felt the memory slip away like liquid silk, until all he could remember about his dream was that he hadn't had one at all.

"In my...what?" Jack muttered, still groggy. "I don't make noises. I didn't even dream anything. Just darkness." He explained tiredly as Baby Tooth peaked out of his pocket and yawned her tiny beak wide.

"How fortunate." Pitch mused, his gaze now back on the book that lay before him, easily twice his height. Jack had a faint feeling that, while Pitch's visual attention was on the text, the rest of him was not.

"Maybe for you." Jack shot back, leaning on thin air as the Wind pushed him gently from the bed and soothed against him. Judging by the Wind's reaction, maybe Jack hadn't slept as still as he thought. Strange.

For some odd reason, watching Pitch made a strand of Jack's dream come back.

"Hey do you…do you know any nursery rhymes?" Jack prompted suddenly, and then wondered why he did. His expression was echoed by Pitch.

"Pardon?"

"Y'know. Nursery rhymes. Uhm, those poems they tell little kids to—look it's just." Jack groaned, trying to word his next sentence carefully. "There's one I was trying to remember. And I couldn't. So I was just wondering if you…did."

"I know of a few. I even have a favorite." Pitch's smile cut up his face, all grim and horrible. Despite all pretenses warning him not to, Jack's curiosity got the better of him. What sort of rhyme to help kids sleep would be a _favorite_ of the bogey man? Jack had forgotten more than he remembered, which hurt his head to think about too much.

"Yeah?" He picked up a fallen pillow. "What is it?"

"If you die before you wake. Do not cry, and do not ache. Nothing's ever yours to keep…so close your eyes and go to sleep."

Jack felt a shiver crawl up his spine—a rare occurrence for obvious reasons pertaining to his magical abilities, but he had to hand it to Pitch. That little nursery rhyme was less comforting and more threatening when spoken in that tone. As he went over the poem in his head once more, his face moved from faint dread to a slight confusion and wonder.

"Actually. That sounds like the one I was trying to remember."

Baby Tooth chirped, giving an incredulous noise of ' _Really_?' Jack only nodded as he smoothed the comforter back in place.

"Yeah. Different words, but close. Really close, the beat sounds almost exactly the same." Jack explained to his friend since Pitch had gone back to the book and was now laboriously trying to turn a page. The frost spirit knew better than to go over there and turn it for him.

"I think…I need to go have a talk with Sandy." Jack whispered to Baby Tooth, keeping his voice low as the little fairy fluttered beside his cheek. She had heard him, and though she didn't look too pleased with this, she nodded in understanding.

Jack sauntered over to window, which the Wind had already eagerly pushed open. The window wasn't tall enough for Jack to stand up in, barely enough for him to angle himself through, and the staff made it even harder. He'd done it plenty of times solo before, and had learned through trial and error it was much easier to leave this window than enter it. He crouched on the sill and turned to look at Pitch across the room.

"I'll be back shortly, Pitch. Don't try any funny stuff." He warned, keeping his tone light. He didn't want to accuse Pitch of something if he hadn't even done it. Jamie was learning the judicial system in school, and had taught Jack all about 'innocent until proven guilty.'

" _Certainly_ not, no." Pitch sniffed, sarcasm dripping from his tone like venom. "Isn't the funny business left to you, Frost?"

Jack only grinned, unphased. He turned to the little fairy hovering anxiously in front of him.

"Baby Tooth, you're on guard duty. See the prisoner is not left unattended, and there'll be extra cookies in your rations tonight." Jack raised his voice to normal speaking level, and put as much commanding leadership into his tone as possible. He furrowed his brows, stuck out his chest and deepened his voice as he gave the 'order.' Like how North looked and sounded, except less…intimidating. Still, Baby Tooth responded by straightening up just like a soldier on duty, her crown feathers perked and in perfect order as she chirped sternly back at him. Her tiny pout and little creased brow almost did him in. Then the salute with her tiny hand finally did break Jack's firmness and he dissolved into laughter. She dropped the salute and giggled brightly back, but landed on his finger when he held it out for her.

"Be careful, okay?" He stressed firmly, the moment of flippancy passed. The Wind started whistling behind him.

Baby Tooth nodded, giving a soft little twitter before she flew up to Jack's cheek. Before he could move she had pecked it and darted away with her face already flushing crimson.

Jack smiled and let himself freefall backwards off the balcony railing. He tumbled straight down the side of the mountain, having no breath that required to be taken away from the force. His hoodie strained against his shoulders, his hair was plastered back and Jack was sure if he could there'd be water leaking from his eyes. Though his staff rocked dangerously, his grip never waved and Jack continued his freefall for several more feet. The ivory mountainside came spinning up faster and faster, the jutting under jaw lines of the frozen cliffs threatening to make him nothing more than a memory and a broken tree branch. Jack's smile grew and he closed his eyes, enjoying the moment of falling. His pleasure only grew when he felt the air around him intake, tightening around him carefully as it sent him spinning sideways instead of down and then finally _up_ and _out_. Rolling a few lazy spins made the mountains switch with the sky, and he did as many loops as the Wind let him. Occasionally Jack would ride a current so high he imagined himself colliding with a star or even the Man in the Moon himself, but often the next thing would be that the Wind would release around him, guiding him into a thermal of tight air that swooped down so steeply Jack would have his laughter whipped away from his lips before it passed over his tongue. That didn't stop him from laughing outloud though.

He brought his staff under him, leaning on it with both feet as he swung this way and that, bandying down an invisible snow slope. The Wind thrummed on his left and his right, light and crisp as it darted around him like a silverfish in a stream. There was another sucking sound as Jack felt the Wind tighten around his torso and hips and haul him straight up like the finale of a rollercoaster. Jack laughed wildly, holding his arms out for balance as he rode the sudden wind tunnel up into the ink black night. Gliding up through the steel colored clouds, Jack now coasted mostly horizontal, looking over his shoulder to see the Moon cresting up behind him, flying at its own sedate pace through the night. Stars twinkled high ahead, and some even tried shinning from behind the clouds. Clouds that looked like they belonged as cake toppers instead of here in the sky where no one could see them, the tumultuous piles of white and slate blue were rolling into thick curls, brushing against the bottom curve of the Moon. He offered it a wave and a smile, (the moon smiled back, but then, it usually was always smiling), before rolling back under the cloud sea and letting the Wind angle him closer toward the ground.

"Aw. There already?" Jack pouted playfully, but then he spotted the golden sand snake trails and immediately smiled wider. His speed slowed to a lazily dip.

"Sandy!"

The Sandman was above a sprawling town Jack didn't know the name of. It wasn't covered in snow though, and the air had gotten increasingly warmer. Coming back down to earth, Jack discovered this was far from the refreshing chill it had been in the mountains. Said mountains arced high above Jack behind him, several hundred miles away now, the only landmark to let him know where North's palace was tucked away. It was far from curious eyes of any citizens who happened to glance at the countryside. But it was night now, and though Jack could spot a few lights here and there that twinkled like grounded stars, he saw no one actually out, and the sunset was only a blot of plum in the west. That too, would soon vanish and leave them in a blanket of night until sunrise.

"Boy, I slept for the whole day, huh." Jack mumbled to himself as he flew over to the golden cloud sitting just above the real ones. The Wind, who was always listening, thrummed in mild agreement and lowered him toward the Sandman.

"Hi, Sandy." Jack raised his voice as he neared the ancient spirit.

Sandy turned at his voice, in time with the faint chime of shifting sand as a little exclamation point and a snowflake sprouted into shape above the man's head.

' _Jack!'_ The image was accompanied by a warm smile, and Jack felt any tension from his shoulder blades slowly loosen. Yeah, everything would be alright.

"I'm sorry I missed you yesterday, I was kinda…in a rush." Jack offered quietly as he hung in midair. He'd wanted to apologize for his cold shoulder, as it were, to the other anyway. He was just killing two birds with one stone this time.

Sandy's small hand waved genially, shooing away his apologies with that quiet understanding Jack appreciated. The golden spirit patted the little bundle of sleep sand he was perched on, though it was much too small for anyone else to actually sit on. On cue, a string from that same pillow stretched between them and clustered to form a duplicate.

"Ah, thanks." He hoped this stuff wouldn't put him to sleep, though if he didn't touch it for too long he was usually alright. At worst it just made him relax a little.

Jack lowered crossed legged, laying his staff over his lap as he folded onto the pillow. The world sucked out around him, the Wind's hands having let go of hi now that he was on something soild. Sandy glanced around at the noise, still unused to the constant company of Jack's friend.

"Hey, Sandy?"

A question mark flipped into existence as Sandy turned to look at him. His hands worked absentmindedly as he gave Jack his attention, lines of gold cutting down into the blackness to sweep to the sleeping children.

"I was just, just wondering. You're the _oldest_ Guardian, right?"

Sandy nodded.

A few lines of golden sleep sand that already existed were almost diagonal, extending much farther than this town, Jack had learned from experience. They vanished from sight like the tail end of a rainbow before Jack could see where they were going. Those strings, the thickest, longest ones, were the ones that meant there was long distance between Sandy and his charge, but said child needed a good dream the most. Jack had followed one once, long before he was a Guardian. It led him to a gloomy, worn-out looking children's hospital where every bed contained a small, still body. He hadn't stayed.

"So you, you had to deal with Pitch Black by yourself then. Waaay before any of the others came along." He tried to speak easily, as if it were only his curiosity he was hoping to feed, and not knowledge on how to handle the Nightmare King.

Sandy shot him several looks. The first one, a confused glance was all Jack got. Sandy twisted a sand rope so that it wouldn't tangle with its neighbor. Second, a vaguely worried but agreeing look of admission. Yes, he had being working against Black for a handful of years before he had any semblance of help, at least one that wasn't human. It used to be just the two of them.

For some odd reason, Sandy sometimes fleetingly missed those days.

Jack nodded. "So…what was it _like?"_

The sand line slammed into each other in shock.

"Sorry!" Jack apologized over the flying images that resembled Sandy's way of cursing as he hurriedly fixed the matter. Once everyone's dream was back in every head it belonged to, the Sandman turned his cloud around to really look at the now sheepish little frost spirit.

Jack smiled, looking up through his bangs with his blue eyes.

"…sorry?" He tried again, his tone suggesting he wasn't going to take back the question. He was still curious. Sandy sighed and waved his hand. He looked tiredly aware, as if he wasn't surprised at all now, that Jack was finally asking this sort of question. From the motion of his hand carried out a new thread of sand, one that wiggled closer to Jack with a thin probing tendril. Once it seemed sure it had found the correct target, Jack stiffened as the sand swirled a loose circle around his eyes, quickly covering up his vision in favor of the gold sand, which was…changing.

Jack blinked once, twice. And each time the scene became clearer, finally turning into a crisp view of the past. A _memory_. Jack leaned closer, interested. Sandy only showed him these when things were serious. In retrospect, the spirit shouldn't have been surprised a question about Pitch's history would equal one of these sights.

All Jack sees is a small colonial town at first, and with night sweeping over it faster than normal. Even the black seems blacker than it should be. Every time the moon goes behind the clouds, or isn't at full size, Jack notices the shadows get deeper. And…livelier. He sees the looming shadow of Pitch Black stalking from one area to the next, sweeping over houses and snuffing out candles with an invisible show of power. He had no idea the year, but the next thing Jack knows, every time the moon fades or the clouds mask it, Sandy appears. More and more, each time keeping the darkness at bay steadily. The soft golden light shoos away the blue-black shadows, sometimes even Pitch himself appears, looking like he wants to fight the Sandman then and there. Sometimes, they do. Jack never sees how those end, but he watches with interest as history starts picking up, moving faster and faster. As soon as Jack catches the familiar flicker of Tooth's wings and what looks like North's sleigh, the sand drops from view. The vision ended unceremoniously, making Jack blink a little to refocus his eyes, and they fall on the little man sitting before him. Sandy gazed quietly at him, in silent, questioning appraisal.

' _Well_?' His expression said.

"You were there…when the moon couldn't be?" Jack took a stab. "Every time it wasn't full, or it was too cloudy, Pitch seemed to spread more nightmares. _You_ were brought in to keep the balance."

Sandy nodded.

"And…you're the Sandman, you deal in dreams. It makes sense to fight fire with fire I guess." Jack reasoned, filing this information away for later. Unfortunately, Jack couldn't create good dreams to combat Pitch. Hell, he couldn't even sort out his own problems with his memory. This might be a bit of a problem.

"So then, why the other Guardians? Why me?" Jack frowned, shaking his head. Something wasn't adding up. Sandy watched him curiously. "How does Pitch keep getting so strong if every time you or the others are there to beat him back?"

This time, the sandman turned at watch him, eyes regretful and woefully sad. He shook his head, sand sparkling off him in the velvet night as he explained gently and wordlessly that this was a question he couldn't—or _wouldn't_ —answer.

"Sandy…"

But the look remained firm, gentle and concerned but firm. Jack wondered why, because suddenly knowing something, anything, about Pitch's past seemed to be the key to getting the Nightmare King to ease up. If only a little. If Jack knew him better, he could understand him, right? Get through to him.

It struck Jack distantly how little he knows about Pitch. How little he knows about the rest of the Guardians for that matter.

"Something keeps happening that makes Pitch build back up to power. You don't know?" Another headshake. "Is there…anyone who knows?"

A tall, thin figure molded from sand atop Sandy's head. The only thing wrong with the model was that it was bright yellow instead of the ebony it should have been.

" _Besides_ Pitch. I can't ask him." He reminded, glad Sandy didn't suspect anything.

The Sandman shrugged, and this time, made the image of a crescent moon. He pointed helpfully up at the cloudy night sky.

It was Jack's turn to sigh. "Right. He hasn't talked to me lately, though." Jack didn't voice this thought, but if the Man in the Moon wasn't going to talk to him about Jack, then why should he expect the Moon to talk to him about someone else entirely? Let alone their arch-enemy.

Sandy nodded and patted Jack's knee sympathetically. He smiled then; it was small and hopeful, as he crafted a little sand dolphin. The dolphin leapt from its stream of sand around Jack in excited, happy circles. It worked; Jack laughed at the sight and reached out to touch it. The instant he did though, he felt bad. Touching Sandy's creation reminded him of Pitch's sand, which reminded him of Pitch. The memory of Pitch killing Sandy caused a lance of pain through Jack's chest, but then, so did the memory of Pitch's expression when Jack refused to join his side. Jack couldn't have imagined that heartbroken look—he'd seen it in the mirror so many times. As fleeting and brief as Pitch's hurt had been, Jack knows deep down it's a sign that there's more to Pitch that evil and darkness.

It was all fun and games until someone got hurt, after all. Jamie's mom always said that. For the first time, Jack decides she's on to something.

Jack felt the Wind start to brush against him before he heard it, which was usually a sign it was tired, but Jack didn't pick up on that right now. He raised a hand before he realized it, feeling the force immediately cram into his palm and trickle between his outstretched fingers, pushing against the pads of his fingers and his palm. He completed a stroke of thin air, letting his mind travel further.

He felt so tired. He must have been sitting on Sandy's dream cloud too long. That was his cue to leave, then. With a yawn, Jack picked up his staff and looked down at the sleeping village. They had gotten lower, so low he could make out some building titles. He spotted one of interest and felt his spirits lift a little.

"Hey, I gotta go Sandy. See ya around?" He said like usual.

When the Sandman nodded, looking cheerful again and waved him off, Jack leaned off the cloud and flew down into the village. No children were out at this hour, so Jack was invisible.

* * *

When Jack returned, he was almost definitely certain Pitch's wispy tail was longer. It coiled and lashed once or twice when Jack popped in, the bogey man jerking from his head from the book. He was glaring a little, but then Pitch was always mostly glaring and it was hard to tell without eyebrows if Pitch really meant it, or if that was just his expression. Maybe Jack was being hopeful, but he was sure that little scowl lessened a fraction upon his arrival. Baby Tooth's certainly did, if her relived chirping was anything to go by. She was a little iridescent streak of blues and greens that buried itself into his hair. Jack chuckled, feeling her wiggle around until she settled, and he didn't need to see to know she had nestled herself on the top of his head, just behind his trademark stray strands that shot a different direction than all the rest. It was the spot she claimed when feeling poor or anxious, but she seemed alright so Jack didn't try and push her from her new little nest.

"Enjoying that?" Jack surmised when he saw how close Pitch was to the middle already. Pitch didn't seem about to give him the satisfaction though, and angrily turned a page.

"It is all I have to _do_ here in this cavity-inducing Hell-hole." That wasn't a no. And someone who was bored with a book certainly didn't make it past page one hundred and fifty in the short time Jack had been gone. The spirit grinned knowingly and wandered over to the desk.

"Language." Jack corrected mildly as he pulled the stack of novels from under his arm.

"What are those?" Pitch watched him suspiciously.

"Books." Jack said, giving him a look. "I found a library on the way back and grabbed a few. When you're done, I'll return them. I can get you more, too. That place was huge." Stories high in fact, it was their fault since they had installed ceiling-windows too. All the more easy for Jack to slip in and then slip out. The frost he left would melt and dry by morning.

"You _stole_ books?" But Pitch was standing up and gliding over to the small pile, leaning down to read their titles.

"Borrowed. They're from a _library_ ; I'm _going_ to give them back." He spread his arms wide and smiled. "Ergo, I borrowed them."

Pitch humped, the noise was utterly adorable coming from someone his size, and pushed the first book off its neighbor.

" _Murder on the Titanic._ ' He read aloud, offering Jack a bemused stare.

"Is that what it says? I just saw the cool cover and grabbed it. Plus, it's pretty thick." Jack said, and this made Pitch check.

"If you think two hundred pages is thick, I suppose." Pitch grunted dryly as he read the next title. _'The Hangman's Daughter.'_ Again, an admittedly intriguing title. Had he just grabbed books willy-nilly off the selves? It seemed so. None of these were in the same genre, which alluded to the idea that Jack had taken his time in selecting books that weren't in danger of being copy-cats in story or author. For some reason, this was rather thoughtful of him, and Pitch hated himself for thinking so. Pitch looked impressed for a moment, before something Jack said caught the King's attention. "Wait, you didn't read the title?"

"Erh. No? I checked it…" So then, the lack of light wasn't to blame for Jack not even knowing what he had absconded with.

"Then you didn't _understand_ the title—Jack Frost can you read?!" Pitch's offended squawk, coupled with his full name made the Spirit set down the rubix cube he was fiddling with. Another gift from North.

"Why are you so angry—Pitch calm down!" Jack laughed, leaning back on the dresser and letting one leg dangle.

"I am held captive by a child who can't even read—of all the…"

"Hey, I'm not a kid!" Baby Tooth chirped in time as if to disagree, and she blinked innocently at Jack's quiet offended stare.

"Can you even write, boy?" Pitch said hotly, as if deeply offended by this.

"Yes! Well…no. Look, I _used_ to be able to." Jack's lips twisted. "I think. I'm _pretty sure._ I was old enough, don't you think?"

"…you mean you can't remember _that_ either?" Slowly, Pitch's disgust and insult seemed to ebb, replaced by a grain of annoyed curiosity. Jack lifted and dropped a shoulder, turning to sit so that he didn't have to look at Pitch.

"That was a long time ago." Jack supplied. "I was invisible, remember? I didn't _exist_." He can't stop the bitterness creeping into his tone. "Where was I gonna get pen and paper, and books? I had other things to do."

"Yet you found the time to get books for _me_." Jack couldn't remember the last time someone called him on his bullshit, but he decided he rather liked it.

"I saw how fast you were reading the one Tooth lent me. That's all. I didn't want you to die of boredom in here."

"I'm sure. There's plenty of others ways for me to die."

"Hey, Pitch, I didn't mean it like that."

But the Nightmare King was moving across the desk now, with purpose and determination. Jack watched him in interest. The little spirit grabbed a sheet of stationary, and with much effort, a pencil. That he had to haul from its cup and kick across the desk. It rolled to a stop by the books, and Pitch carried the sheer tucked up under his arm. it looked like the size of a Persian rug compared to him. He halted by the pencil and let the paper fall open with a flourish. Pointing with all the righteous indigence of a cat and the cool gaze of a hawk, Pitch aimed a finger at Jack, then the chair sitting before the desk.

"Sit." He demanded, and Jack wandered over out of sheer interest than any sort of obedience. He sat alright, but backwards and only grinned when Pitch shot him a sour little look.

"What's all this for?" Jack asked.

"You," Pitch said, with dramatic pause for effect. "Are going to become literate."

Up on Jack's head, snuggled against his hair, Baby Tooth giggled.

* * *

 **Author: So, Pitch can't make nightmares. But the dream Jack had, with its giant golfball sized holes where certain things, people or places should be, was quiet a doozy. It was not though, made by Pitch. A nightmare stays with you, as seen by the kids suffering toward the end of the movie. Jack's didn't.**


	3. Moon Nostalgia

See the end for author's notes.

 **Chapter 3. Moon Nostalgia**

* * *

 _Two children sliding on the ice  
Upon a summer's day,  
As it fell out, one fell in,  
The other she just ran away._

* * *

"So what's an 'A' look like again?"

A frustrated sigh. "Like this."

"Okay. How come W's and M's are just flipflops of each other? And how come 'bead' is with an a and an e, but 'need' and 'seed' are both double e's? They all sound alike!" Jack tapped his pencil lightly as he continued on,

"How come phonetic isn't spelled with an f? And what about—"

" _Frost_!"

Jack blinked innocently up from his doodle of Baby Tooth and looked up at Pitch. "Yeah?"

The nightmare king was holding the bridge of his nose between his fingers, pinching the area as if he felt an oncoming headache. He was gritting his teeth, all jagged and sharp. He was still the height of a paintbrush, but standing up on his whispy tail made him look thinner than usual. He stood behind a child's blackboard Jack had swiped from the reject pile of toys—half of the blackboard was cracked at the top, which was fine since Pitch couldn't reach the top anyway. At the bottom, written in Pitch's impressively eloquent scrawl in a broken piece of chalk, was the alphabet. Each number had its upper and lowercase, and all the vowels were underlined.

Jack studied this once more, then looked down at his fourth sheet of paper. By the time he'd managed to stop freezing the pencil and paper and making them useless writing utensils, they'd gone through the alphabet three times, Jack had doodled a pumpkin, some new snow flake designs, and Baby Tooth's profile at least once. Pitch had only caught him twice at it, and each time had earned him a whack across the knuckles with whatever weapon Pitch could lay his gray hands on at the time of Jack's folly. Jack couldn't stop drawing though. This was a lot easier than writing, that was for sure.

The frost spirit considered his page, then the blackboard, then his page, and finally the blackboard. He opened his mouth, and Pitch knew it was coming but had no time to stop it—

"…why is it only _sometimes_ y?"

Pitch threw up his hands.

* * *

Jack looked out through the window, at an indigo sky punctured by clouds.

"How are you feeling, Pitch?" he asked as he turned from the frosted over glass, looking to where Pitch had gone back to reading on the desktop. He was about twenty pages into _Murder on the Titanic_ , which he had started after their little impromptu writing lesson. It had ended with Pitch having the common sense to quit, and Jack knowing a little more than he started with. But not enough knowledge to satisfying both of them, and Jack had an inkling Pitch would be pestering him tomorrow to continue the lesson.

Their time together was almost becoming a game. Jack liked it.

"…Pitch?" Jack said again, when he realized he hadn't gotten an answer. Walking closer rewarded him with the sight of the Nightmare King rubbing his left shoulder and trying to be subtle about it. The action was hard and repetitive, as if he was trying to coax out an ache deep in his bones.

"Fine, Frost." Pitch muttered distantly, like he thought a cold shoulder would deter the spirit from pestering him anymore. Baby Tooth, perched happily on her charge's shoulder, rolled her pretty little eyes.

Boy, he had a lot to learn about Jack Frost.

"Hey, your arm—is it okay?" Jack was fixed with a glare so annoyed he _almost_ regretted asking the question. The spirit walked closer and, without really thinking about it, swept the nightmare king up into his hand where he fit, sitting on his palm. He raised his hand to better see the miniature king.

"Gyah! Frost! P-put me down this instant or I'll—" Jack never found out what the ultimatum was, because the movement had jostled Pitch's clearly sore arm and caused him to cut off his words with an aggravated hiss of pain. He curled around his entire left side this time, and Jack automatically supported the small figure without question. He ignored the way Pitch slumped against his fingers, which made a wall for him to lean on. While Pitch breathed through the pain spasm, or whatever it was he was doing, Jack went and looked him over. This time, he was careful not to touch.

"It doesn't _look_ damaged…but it's sore right? What didja do to it?" Jack watched, half distracted by the cool, smooth tail that began spreading tentative tendrils around his palm and pinkie. Jack realized that Pitch, subconsciously or not, was trying to find something to cling to.

" _What_ _did I do to it_ —yes Frost, I go around smashing my own body into the ground quite often. It's a poor habit of mine. Looking to get help, but you know how it is." The sarcasm was palpable in the air.

Jack paused. Smashing his body into the ground—oh. Oooohhh.

"Uh. Erh… _we_ …did that?" He asked delicately.

Pitch's empty glare gave him his answer. Jack felt yellow, bile tasting regret swallow his emotions.

"…uhm. Sorry?" He tried, ignoring Baby Tooth's suddenly look at him.

"Excuse me?" Well, now Pitch was staring at him too, which gave Jack a vague sense of accomplishment.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Pitch. We didn't—we weren't out to cause lasting damage you know? We were just trying to protect the kids." Jack tried to explain, he really truly did. And he's sorry, _he_ is at least. Maybe he shouldn't speak so hastily for the other guardians, who have known the Nightmare King longer than he has, but Jack can't help but feel there's a lot more to this missing story of Pitch's than anyone knows. Maybe even Sandy.

It's just so hard to look at this battered, broken form of a man and imagine him as anything close to inherently _evil_. Wasn't Pitch Black paying his price already? Shouldn't it come to an end sometime?

Pitch growled at him, the noise oddly animalistic. But it got its message across. Jack sighed and wandered over to the bed. Maybe some comfort would help the injuries? So he set Pitch lightly onto the pillow.

"Better?" asked Jack, who didn't really know anything of the sort when it came to medical aid. He knew ice helped pain and swelling, but had a feeling holding the Nightmare King for any longer than Pitch wanted would only earn Jack a bitten thumb. And he wanted to avoid those teeth if he could help it.

"Leave me alone." Responded Pitch, his tone bitter, and icier than Jack's hair.

"Pitch…" Jack murmured, trailing off with an accepting sigh.

But the Nightmare King curled up, pointedly facing away from him as his tail coiled and curled. Strands of it broke off and lashed, reminding Jack of Cupcake's agitated tabby that was over fifteen years and liked to be left alone. Jack looked over to the windowsill where Baby Tooth was sunning her wings, and where the idle shutter here and there blew from the wind's bored actions. All this teaching had otherwise kept Jack so occupied they hadn't had a lick of fun all day. At least, that's how Baby Tooth and the Wind felt. Jack seemed to think otherwise, so they were content to remain silent, if only for the frost spirits happiness.

"Pitch, c'mon." Jack tried. "I thought we were having a good time…" This elicited such a snarl that was thrown over Pitch's shoulder at him, that even Jack took a step back.

"Alright." Came a sad sigh. "I'll get out of your hair…"

Jack knew when to retreat, despite what other's thought.

"But I'm here if you need me. Promise."

Pitch didn't need to look up to know that the spirit of fun had left silently. He leaned into the deep blue duvet a little more and closed his eyes. Of all the times for that blasted shoulder to act up, tch. It was incredibly easy to loathe Jack Frost when he wasn't around, Pitch had learned. A bit more of a challenge when the spirit was here. For a moment, Pitch could swallow his pride and ignore that damnable smile, the midsummer eyes and the friendly air Frost seemed to bleed into the air all around them, like a flower spreading its fragrance. Was his friendly demeanor _endless_? Didn't he tire of being so nice and playful all the time? At first, Pitch assumed it was an act. Now, he was beginning to think otherwise. Jack Frost was charming.

Pitch Black swallowed nervously.

He closed his eyes and tried to rest. Seeing as he stuck here on this bed, there was little else his eleven inch tall form could manage besides resting. Yes, sleep would be good. he could pretend he hadn't heard Jack promise to be there for him—of all the romantic, silly little ideas if there ever was one. The boy belonged in a different era, that was for sure.

Perhaps, were he lucky this time, he would dream of her.

And not dream of Jack.

* * *

Jack Frost felt very strange.

He hadn't started out that way, of course. If he felt _this_ poorly when he was leaving the ice castle, he probably wouldn't have tried going anywhere in the first place. Certainly, the wind would have buffeted him back into his room and slammed the windows on him pointedly. 'Rest' is what it would be saying, if it had lungs and vocal chords with which to shout.

And yet…

It had come upon him so suddenly. Like a blanket of snow falling from a tree and right onto his shoulders. Odd.

The spirit wobbled in the air, yawning behind his hand as he coasted along the puffy cloud line. The en-masse ocean of clouds were a pretty, soft pink Sophie would adore. Though lately she'd been more into greens and blues lately, so maybe not as much. Jack made a mental note to visit the Bennet siblings as soon as he was sure he could sneak away and manage it. He didn't like waiting until October for the early frost to be able to visit his home, or his kids.

It felt like weights are tied to his limbs, and before he knew it he was dipping below the clouds. The wet sensation of the dissipating billows he was colliding with jerked him awake. With a gasp, the spirit tumbled upwards, panting as if he'd run a mile. The Wind gave a startled _whisshh_ noise and clutched him tighter. They flew together or not at all! It reminded with a scolding tsk. Nervous chirps sliced through the atmosphere from his passenger on his shoulder.

"Ah…hah, B-baby Tooth!" Jack gasped, blinking rapidly to keep the sleep from his eyes. "I, I'm fine! Really!" Something in his voice gave him away, and the Wind sucked around his torso, holding him gently but firmly in midair. Despite the support, Jack wobbled weakly and nearly lost his grip on his staff. He felt the Wind lower him toward the ground, but knew they were too high for him to be safe yet. Below them was a long slope that would lead to a winding trail to North's castle.

If he could just make it back there…

"Hnn…think I, think I…need more…" And suddenly, the exhaustion won. Jack's eyes rolled back into his head. Despite Baby Tooth's alarmed, sharp squeaking, and the Wind's frightened howl, Jack muttered the end to his sentence,

"Sleep…" It was like a switch had been hit. His body went limp—his staff fell from the sky and with it went his powers—and Jack followed.

The ground came up, as Jack went tumbling down, down down…

* * *

 _Something is coming._

North paused at his workbench, leaning back from the final tap a prancing ice horse needed. Its mane was glorious, but its saddle needed some final touches before it was truly _wondrous_. But now, he cannot find the strength to move his hands into the correct position. He can't concentrate, because there is a familiar weight of worry starting to grow in his stomach.

Odd. He can't think of a reason for this sensation. It couldn't be Pitch, could it?

Rolling a shoulder nervously, North took a moment to weigh his choices. The sensation in his belly, while there, was very small. Much smaller than Pitch arrival not so long ago. He could feel it fading almost now. Perhaps it was merely a Chocolate Crinkle gone off that he had eaten earlier, yes. That must be it.

North raised his tools, tiny and delicate in his thick hands, and leaned closer to his latest project. Just one final tap and—

The door burst open, smashing into the wall.

North shouted, jumping to his feet as the sharp tools came biting into the horse's neck and cleanly decapitating it.

"Ahhh!" North cried out, pointing to the obtrusive Yeti, who had the decency to look horrified. Once it uncovered its mouth, it gestured and spoke rapidly. Something, whatever had happened, had spooked it badly. Had spooked them all badly. Because North noticed the rapidly approached bundle of Yetis barging into his workshop.

"What is the meaning of this? Why has got you all into such a harried man…ner?" North faded off, staring at what lay still and limp in the arms of the Yeti named Phil.

" _Jack_?" North breathed incredulously, and finally understood what his belly was trying to tell him.

It was Jack alright, broken and more ashen than normal. He was without his staff, which was worrying, but North soon noticed another Yeti holding it carefully beside Phil. The boy was unconscious, but alive and bleeding from a gash above his eyebrow to prove it. One skinny hand dangled, scratched and bloodied and there was snow covering him as if he'd landed in a snow bank and been left to lie there for a while. According to the story the Yetis were trying to tell all at once, that's exactly what Jack Frost had done. But they had only found the young guardian, no tracks or anything around him to suggest he'd gotten into a scuffle. Had he fallen from the sky, then? How had he survived? How had he avoided smashing amongst the rocks surrounding the castle?

His answer came in the form of the whistling Wind, its tones sharp and agitated as it fluttered above them anxiously. He could not 'speak' or read it as well as the frost spirit, but North had a good idea of what kept Jack from breaking his neck from the fall. Baby Tooth was flying beside Phil, chirping gently in Jack's direction as if to rouse him from his current state. The very sight kicked North's brain into gear.

Something had happened to the boy, but they would deal with that later.

"Get him to his room, _now_!" North barked the command again when no one moved fast enough. "Ivan, get your bag." He commanded. The resident yeti that was keen on medicine and healing rumbled a reply and hurried off.

The Yeti's knew not to take North's commanding tone as anything other than professionalism and being 'The Boss.' Besides, he was worried for Jack and really, they all were. Without hesitation Phil pounded through the door to Jack's room.

The Yeti delivered the worryingly still body to the bed, careful to support his head until it could rest on the pillow. Jack's head lolled eerily, and lay still. Phil backed out of North's space as the man came into the room. They were still waiting for Ivan, and North looked over the spirit himself while they stood there.

Several elves had come running, and there at least twenty of them crowding around the bed, each as anxious as the other over the state of the frost sprite. Quite oblivious to it all, Jack laid still, eyes closed and breathing evenly. Strange, he appeared to be sleeping.

North shooed some elves off one side of the bed, a few of them wiggling under the frame for cover as Ivan and his large medical bag tromped into the room.

"He will live, yes?" North asked, half knowing he was right in his assumption. A guardian was not easy to kill, not so long as children believed in them. And with Jamie alone, Jack showed remarkable ability to channel that energy into something powerful _beyond_ belief.

Ivan the Doctor Yeti nodded, giving a curt, gruff answer as he performed a basic check up over Jack Frost. Several bodies in the room exhaled in relief. A few in the back had to get back to work, but more than half stayed. All were eager to find out what happened to the boy, and what they could do make him better or, better yet, avenge him.

Had Jack Frost been attacked? North finally had the common sense to ask Toothiana's assistant about it—the one that had bonded to Jack after he'd saved her life.

She shook her iridescent head, tucked beak down shyly as she fluttered over to Jack's side. She seemed jumpy, looking around at every noise and her wings flicking worriedly. North wondered why briefly, but chalked it up to the whole ordeal with Jack. Without Jack as a translator for the Wind or the little Tooth, North was left with having to just _sit around and wait_ for the boy to wake up.

Nothing could have been more frustrating.

It was then Ivan pulled away, speaking a jumble of sounds and noises that loosely translated to a noise of astonishment.

Before their very eyes, the sprite's bruises were starting to fade and sink back into his flesh, as if drawn in by some inner force. While not new to the healing process of Guardians, which was so reactive in general, they were not used to it happening so quickly. But the guardian's magical and physical health was now linked with the force of the children who loved them.

North was strongly hit with the memory of the first time Jack fought back against Pitch—and that was _without_ the strength of the children who believed in him so dearly. The boy had the potential become something far stronger than all of them, and North wondered why the thought filled him with equal amounts joy and trepidation. Slight thought it was, North made sure all the windows were open, the cold air drifting in. The Yeti's didn't mind it, and no one much cared about the opinion of the elves, so the temperature of the room dropped steadily.

Against Jack's neck, Baby Tooth burrowed into his hair and pulled his hood around her small frame as she leaned against the frost sprite. She waited, quietly and patiently, for him to awake. North was impressed by her loyalty, and gave her a warm smile.

"He will be alright, Little Tooth. I can feel it." He said softly, "In my belly."

Giving a hesitant smile of her own, Baby Tooth nodded gently.

It was nearly sunset by the time North stood from the chair at Jack's beside. Still, the boy hadn't awoken. Hadn't even stirred. He hardly looked to be alive, but North hoped that was simply because they boy's complexion lead nothing to the imagination of being alive. Jack was, for all accounts and purposes, dead as a door nail. The rest of the Guardians were not used to this, not even Sandman.

North decided, and he voiced the opinion to Baby Tooth, that if Jack did not recover by tomorrow, he would call the Guardians.

"Even if we cannot do anything, there is no harm in being together. We must be there for Jack." North kept his voice low, and he heard grateful chirps from Baby Tooth.

North left the room. With him went the last candle, sending the room into pastel twilight as the orange sun tried in vain to alight the world. It looked the sun was trying to set the room was on fire. Baby Tooth tried not to think about that.

"...Frost?" That was Pitch.

He edged out from under a pillow. He had been hiding for hours now, and while he was a little annoyed, he couldn't very well yell at an unconscious Jack. That wouldn't be any fun. With a furrowed brow and confused expression, the Nightmare King drifted on his smoke trail toward Frost's shoulder. He lay there, rather lifeless and unresponsive, one hand draped over his stomach. The hand rose and fell with Jack's breathing, which was one of the few signs Pitch picked up on to ascertain what state the boy was in. He was only a foot away when the small worker for the Tooth Fairy darted in from of him. Her feathers were aloof and spread, spiting a string of threats from her demure beak as her glowing eyes narrowed in warning. She bobbed back and forth in front of him, all worked up.

"Easy, easy!" Pitch managed to keep the nasty laugh from his voice. This was too rich. Would she react this way if he were his normal height and full power?

For some reason, he thought the answer to be yes. This confused him, so he stopped thinking about it. Whatever magnetism Jack possessed, it was clearly capable of affecting everyone.

"I do not wish to harm him. If I did, you'd just bring North and every Yeti within a mile into this room—and then where would I be?" Pitch pointed out smoothly, making his case.

The little fairy twitched in the air, her wings flicking as she eyed him suspiciously. Somewhere, the Wind hit the shutter so it clicked lightly once or twice, almost as if in ponderous agreement with Pitch.

"I will not harm a single strand on his head. If I do, please," He swept into a low, mocking bow. The trails of his black sand curled and flicked. "Feel free to 'tattle' on me."

Baby Tooth clucked her beak reproachfully, every indignant inch of her saying _'I intend to.'_ before she darted back up into the cavity between Jack's neck and the pillow. She nestled against the nape of his neck, giving soft, worried chirrups in his ear as she nuzzled close.

Deciding this meant he was given the 'ok' Pitch closed the space between him and Frost and eyed the spirit quietly. Well, what on earth happened _here_?

"Did something fight him?" Pitch paused, remembering the fairy's way of speaking. Honestly, how _did_ the boy understand it? "One for no, two for yes."

A single chirp.

"Hm, then what…? Strange. He looks as if he just…fell asleep." Pitch admitted, trying to keep his tone bored and disinterested. The Nightmare king paused as he noticed he was now several inches taller, his black tail coiling tightly to provide extra support so that he could walk on the smog-trail. He looked up at the inch of shimmering feathers he could see.

"You are afraid for him." Came the soft, low noise of realization. It wasn't a question.

Two soft, small chirps. She knew better than to lie, especially to this monster.

Pitch turned back to stare at the boy's sleeping face.

"And when he wakes up, you will lose that fear. I suppose I should appreciate the height while it lasts." He growled dryly, venturing up to stand on Jack's forearm. Closer now to the frost spirit's face, Pitch found himself overcome with a hungry urge to put his fingers through that ice brittle hair. To brush it out of Jack's eyes so that he could see the ice blue orbs better upon his awakening. Yes, that would be…enjoyable, Pitch surmised dimly. Moments later, he was broken out of his thoughts by a curious Baby Tooth. Her soft chirp startled him from his thoughts, and he found himself leaning over Jack Frost. In this tiny form, his fingertips were just touching the spirit's cool cheek. It was not flushed, but it was smoother than it had any right to be, and those freckles were downright endearing.

"Ah…" Pitch froze.

Noticing the traitorous thoughts an instant later, Pitch mentally stomped on them and sent them flying out the damn window. Then he noticed his posture and jerked back as if Jack's skin burned him, even giving a little hiss like a ruffled tom cat.

"Preposterous!" Pitch booed at the bedspread, earning a confused look from Baby Tooth.

He stormed off the sleeping form of Jack Frost, tail lashing as it propelled him back onto the deep red comforter covered in prancing, stylized reindeer. Pitch kept his arms folded, glaring sternly out the window into the black night. Night had fallen—already? No matter.

It was then Pitch heard a moan.

Pitch paused in his annoyance, twisting to look over his shoulder at the now moving guardian. His eyebrows knit, his lips were taught and his pale purple fingers twitched restlessly. From behind his eyelids, Pitch saw movement and knew that REM sleep had begun. Something in his chest felt rather heavy when he realized what his and Jack's actions when one came after the other.

Pitch Black had just touched the young guardian during sleep.

Pitch Black had started a nightmare.

* * *

 **Damn Pitch, you dun fucked up. You think Jack's nightmares are gonna be scary, wait till you see what Baby Tooth does when she gets her little hands on the equally miniature nightmare king. Lawl, but hey I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, yeah? Reviews are NEVER required but always appreciated!**


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